tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43656434932522968292014-10-04T20:44:40.476-07:00DTW to PDXadventures from the northwestmargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-74736639573967482232010-09-24T09:51:00.000-07:002010-09-24T10:07:43.532-07:00just a thought....you know, i really thought i was just going to quit this whole blogging thing...<div>i just have so little 'free time' these days. and when i do have a few minutes the very last thing i want to do is sit at my computer. also, sometimes i feel like life is _____ enough (fill in the blank with long/hard/frustrating/painful/busy....) just living it, why do we have to re-live it by making a post about it?</div><div>but i just had a thought i needed to get out. </div><div>so, i'm back to blogging, at least for the few minutes that it takes me to get this thought out.</div><div><br /></div><div>first, some background: i just signed on to facebook to send someone a message, and i happened to see a new post from a young girl who was in my cabin at UPBC a few years back when steve and i led BEAR camp (outdoor leadership camp). let's just say her name is jill (it is not). jill was very sweet in the way that 15 year old girls can be. she was young and fresh and silly and loyal. and i could tell she really liked me. we had a great time together that week, our little cabin of silly teenage girls. and after camp was over jill and some of her friends wrote my a couple little notes. in pink pen. with little flowers drawn on. and i happened to see them a few times at church when they were visiting, and they were so excited to see me and how was i? and oh jackson is so so cute! and i enjoyed seeing them too.</div><div><br /></div><div>when i was 15 i had a few 'older' women friends too. similarly, some youth leaders, camp counselors. and i can totally remember the way i looked up to them. and i wrote them notes. in pink pen. with flowers. and for the most part, even though i knew they liked me too, i always felt a little bit like they didn't like me as much as i liked them. and why didn't they write back? and why, when i saw them half a year after camp did they seem a little tired and not as silly as i had remembered them in the late nights of july?</div><div><br /></div><div>and what i know now is that it wasn't anything about me. it was just life. i just saw jill's new pictures on facebook and my heart felt kind of sad that i haven't kept up with her, and she's in college now, and i wonder if she's figured some things out that she didn't know when she was 15. i wonder if she still thinks boys are weird, and if she still adores her big sister like i could tell she did that summer. </div><div><br /></div><div>i am so burdened with keeping up. and there just isn't enough time in the day. and what's most important right now is taking care of my family, and that requires so much time, and love, and energy. and at least i am doing that well, but it's hard to not feel like i have much left at the end of the day, especially for all the other people in the world that i love.</div><div><br /></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-59347784200627658372010-07-11T22:23:00.000-07:002010-07-11T22:25:15.670-07:00Coming Soon...margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-34918738090260819412010-05-29T19:06:00.001-07:002010-05-29T19:30:24.678-07:00Where the Sky Meets the Sea<div style="text-align: center;">My friend Gina is in town and has never been this far west, so we went to the coast - to a city called Seaside. We lucked out and actually saw some blue sky and it didn't rain until we were almost back in Portland!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJu7ClRMI/AAAAAAAAAK4/hUhJ7Yx6MH8/s1600/IMG_1638.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJu7ClRMI/AAAAAAAAAK4/hUhJ7Yx6MH8/s400/IMG_1638.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476880429818922178" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This was also my first trip to the Oregon coast. Been here 7 months and I feel like I've hardly seen a thing! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJv-OhLjI/AAAAAAAAALI/aWhWGuoJJ3E/s1600/IMG_1689.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJv-OhLjI/AAAAAAAAALI/aWhWGuoJJ3E/s400/IMG_1689.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476880447854161458" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gina loves the beach...doesn't she look happy?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJvcdTfXI/AAAAAAAAALA/CCDZouKtTUw/s1600/IMG_1647.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJvcdTfXI/AAAAAAAAALA/CCDZouKtTUw/s400/IMG_1647.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476880438789373298" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">When we were at the Washington coast in the fall we bought a big kite that has two handles - it's a ton of fun once you get it going. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJwUKzsRI/AAAAAAAAALQ/hTVLIglpLJY/s1600/IMG_1662.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJwUKzsRI/AAAAAAAAALQ/hTVLIglpLJY/s400/IMG_1662.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476880453744177426" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We were a little rusty since it had been a few months, but we managed to fly it for quite a while.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJwzRQx3I/AAAAAAAAALY/M62r5NoAvKg/s1600/IMG_1667.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHJwzRQx3I/AAAAAAAAALY/M62r5NoAvKg/s400/IMG_1667.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476880462092748658" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I wore Max and he slept the whole time. He loves to be worn! I'm still cleaning sand out of his ears from being on the beach.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHK8L_EMDI/AAAAAAAAALw/X8xV9NSmpOE/s1600/IMG_1707.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHK8L_EMDI/AAAAAAAAALw/X8xV9NSmpOE/s400/IMG_1707.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476881757217501234" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I still feel like a kid in front of the ocean. It never gets old. I love it that we live so close!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHK7ht7PJI/AAAAAAAAALo/U3j3a5iDSd8/s1600/IMG_1696.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHK7ht7PJI/AAAAAAAAALo/U3j3a5iDSd8/s400/IMG_1696.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476881745871322258" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We found lots of crab shells and starfish. Some for keeping, and some for skipping.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHKvXFOoiI/AAAAAAAAALg/CR9MQJ43jF0/s1600/IMG_1721.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/TAHKvXFOoiI/AAAAAAAAALg/CR9MQJ43jF0/s400/IMG_1721.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476881536857842210" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All in all, a beautiful and fun day.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-76573230996412937462010-04-20T18:37:00.000-07:002010-04-28T20:30:26.218-07:00Max's Birth**As I've never been one to leave out details (relevant or not) this is a pretty wordy post. Drink some coffee before you sit down to read, but it pays off in the end with some great photos! Enjoy!<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9HwrwOgEzI/AAAAAAAAAIY/bqARiQTntZk/s1600/IMG_1357.JPG"></a><div>3am Friday morning April 9 I woke up to go to the bathroom. I went to sit up and felt a gush. I knew it was my water, though it wasn't all of it. My doctor had told me a few days earlier that I had a "bulging bag" of water, meaning that there was a small amount of water below the baby's head and then his head was blocking the rest. This is probably the reason that labor didn't start at that moment when my water broke.</div><div><br /></div><div>My worst fear about this birth was that my water would break and labor wouldn't start naturally, which would eventually lead to the need for pitocin or some other labor-inducing drug. You see, when you're having a hospital birth there are certain protocols to which you must adhere - one of them being that you only have about 24 hours to have the baby once your water breaks. My labor was clearly not starting so I decided not to call my doctor yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>7am I'm having some contractions but with no regular pattern. They're not very painful, maybe a 2 or 3 on the pain scale, and some only last 20 seconds. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the last few weeks of my pregnancy I saw an acupuncturist for "labor preparation". My doctor highly recommended this - there is new research that it shortens labor time, helps to get the baby in a good position for birth, and helps to soften the cervix. It also did wonders for my hip pain in those last few weeks. My 36th week was pretty miserable - I wasn't sleeping well because my hips hurt so badly and was just very uncomfortable. I was thinking it was going to be a long 4 weeks until I was due, but I really noticed a difference once I began the acupuncture in my 37th week. </div><div><br /></div><div>My acupuncturist, Andrea is a very kind and gentle woman. She was a great resource in those last few weeks - recommending some herbs to make a tea that would help me sleep, and also giving me some chinese herbs to help build up my strength for the task of labor. She had mentioned to me that if by chance my water broke and labor didn't start that I could call her and she would come to my house to help induce labor with acupuncture.</div><div><br /></div><div>10am same type of contractions still with no real pattern. Steve's getting ancy and thinks I should call the doctor. I've left a message for Andrea and am waiting to hear back from her and see if she can come over. In the meantime I decide to call the doctor, and of course, she says to come right in to the hospital. I told her that my labor hadn't really started and I'd rather wait at home until it starts. I don't think that made her very happy and she reiterated that she thought I should come in. Unfortunately <i>my</i> doctor - the one that I saw for my whole pregnancy was on her honeymoon and I had never met the doctor who was on call that day, and who would be the doctor to deliver for me. I think we started off on the wrong foot!</div><div><br /></div><div>11:30am Andrea came over with her bag of tricks. Our doula, Karen, arrived shortly after. I had seen Andrea the day before and she had done something called "e-stim" which stands for electromagnetic stimulation. She put some needles into my sacrum (the lower part of the back) and then attached wires that give a slight pulse into the needles. It's attached to a dial so she can adjust the strength of the pulse - ideally you should be able to feel it but it shouldn't be painful. Once she had everything hooked up she asked me how it felt. I told her it felt about the same as it had the day before. Later, before she left my house she told me that she had turned the dial up twice as high as it had been the day before, and the fact that it felt the same to me meant that my body was already producing oxytocin (the body's natural labor-inducing hormone). </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9iUb5mHXnI/AAAAAAAAAIg/ADxmfY714nY/s400/IMG_1359.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465281354852163186" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9HwrwOgEzI/AAAAAAAAAIY/bqARiQTntZk/s400/IMG_1357.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463412457447887666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div>Once Andrea had all the needles in my contractions began to have a regular pattern of about 5-6 minutes apart, though some of them were still only lasting about 30 seconds. I felt a lot of the pain in my hips and down my legs, so Andrea put these glass suctions on my hips to help relieve the pain. At this point the pain was still pretty manageable - I needed to concentrate through a contraction but I would still say about a 3 or 4 on the pain scale. She left the needles in for about 30 minutes. During this time I also drank some chinese herbs to help give me strength for the work that lay ahead.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the acupuncture was done Andrea gathered her things and left. It was so kind of her to come over, she even shifted around an appointment that she had so she could stay and leave the needles in a little longer. She was definitely one of the 'team' of people that I feel helped me to have the labor and birth I desired.</div><div><br /></div><div>So at this point labor had definitely started and it was time to get ready to go to the hospital. I wasn't in a hurry at all, mostly because I felt like I had a long way to go since my contractions weren't too terribly painful. I was feeling pretty excited and very happy that things were calm and moving slowly. I realized at this point that I had envisioned my labor coming on really quickly and expected things to feel out of control, having to make a mad dash to the hospital and scrambling to get Jackson to a caregiver's house. But instead everything was very calm, it almost felt surreal. Steve's parents were in town and had just gotten home from picking Jackson up from preschool. Our bags were packed and ready to go. So we all ate some lunch and then some yummy blueberry cobbler. We talked to Jackson about coming up to the hospital to see Sharky later that day. It was really nice, and all I wanted to do was stay at home and have the baby there. But obviously that wasn't the plan, so around 1:30pm we headed to the hospital. Karen drove us so we could leave our car for the Dales to come up to the hospital later. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the car I began to feel the contractions picking up in intensity, and I also began to feel a lot of pressure in my pelvis, which I knew was a sign that the baby was slowly moving down. I began to feel like maybe I was further along than I thought. </div><div><br /></div><div>We checked into the hospital around 2pm. They put us up in a room and started checking me in - taking my vitals and asking all those ridiculous questions like if you have any false teeth that might fall out during surgery. I was very calm and needed silence during a contraction but was fully able to rest and talk in between. We settled into the room and put some classical music on. At one point I mentioned to the nurse that I had been dilated to a four for nearly three weeks. She said something like "oooh" and went to call the doctor. When she came back she said the doctor had instructed her to check me right away to see how far along I was. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was stuck at 5cm for so many agonizing hours in my labor with Jackson until I finally got an epidural. At this point the pain I was in did not come close to the pain I remembered from my labor with Jackson, so I kept saying "if I'm still at a four I'm going to be pissed!" Karen had been telling me all day that she thought I was further along than I thought. She is very gifted and seems almost prophetic about her predictions so I wanted to believe her, but I was also nervous that I was going to repeat my labor with Jackson. As far as my contractions not being as painful, Karen explained that because I was on pitocin during my entire labor with Jackson I never felt what a natural, drug-free contraction was like. She explained that a pitocin-induced contraction comes on very quickly, spiking up in pain and staying there for a full minute and sometimes more. And that a natural contraction can be much more manageable in that it comes on slowly, peaks, and comes back down in intensity.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9iVEOGifCI/AAAAAAAAAIo/2o6ZFVOFQnQ/s400/IMG_1361.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465282047551634466" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9iVFr7nS6I/AAAAAAAAAI4/Nq4LQ4Xbyaw/s400/IMG_1378.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465282072738745250" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div>I got into the bed for the nurse to check me, and she announced that I was dilated to 9cm! What?! I was practically laughing I couldn't believe I was that far along and hadn't thought once yet "I can't do this...it's too painful". I had learned during pregnancy that the part of labor called transition, which is dilating from 7cm-10cm can be the most painful, with sometimes no break between contractions. And that often there is a period of rest between transition and pushing. So I was feeling pretty good that I had made it that far and I was so excited for getting this baby out!</div><div><br /></div><div>At this point Karen and Steve began the mad dash of setting up the water birth tub, which is something that the nurses typically do but my nurse still hadn't finished fully checking me in and asking more ridiculous questions. Thankfully Karen has a lot of experience with water births and new exactly how to set the tub up. It's basically this huge blow-up tub the size of a large kiddie pool. The tub itself belongs to the hospital, but for sanitary reasons there is a large disposable liner that fits over the whole tub and new hosing for each birth. I continued to move about the room as I labored through contractions and the tub was being filled. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9iV5yj1xRI/AAAAAAAAAJI/9Fvsynd-BMo/s400/IMG_1367.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465282967871276306" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9iVGW7OfWI/AAAAAAAAAJA/MsxFFd3_gmA/s400/IMG_1372.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465282084279844194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>With each contraction I was having (at this point about 3 minutes apart) it seemed like my body instructed me as to what position to be in. And it seemed like with each one I wanted to be more and more bent over - first just leaning a bit on a chair, then bending over with my hands on the bed, until finally I felt like I needed to be one my hands and knees. It was so amazing to just listen to my body and to feel so in tune with what I was doing. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first contraction I had on my hands and knees I heard a quiet "pop" and my full water gushed out. I let out a little yelp because it was a bit of a surprise, and a funny feeling. Everyone thought something had gone wrong but realized it was just my water! The tub was just about full and it seemed like a good time to make my way there. I decided to use the bathroom before I got in. As I made my way there Karen warned me that since my water had just broken I may have some new "sensations" and that I might need help getting out of the bathroom. I was glad she warned me because when I sat down on the toilet I had a contraction, and I suddenly felt like the baby might just fall out. I was able to make it out of the bathroom and into the tub. Ahh, the water was so relieving, and my body instantly felt so much lighter. </div><div><br /></div><div>The tub was oblong shaped had a little step on one of the narrow sides for the mom to sit on. Karen and Steve had set the tub up in the corner of the room with the step also in the corner so that I would be facing out toward the room. But I felt such intense pressure from the baby moving down the birth canal that I didn't want to sit on the step. So I sat at the opposite end so I could have my hands down on the bottom of the tub and have my butt lifted off the bottom. That was the only reason I positioned myself that way, but after the fact I was so glad I had because it allowed me to feel like it was only me, Steve and Karen in the room. The rest of the room was behind me, so I was oblivious to all the commotion of the doctor getting suited up and nurses standing by with the baby warmer..etc. I was able to concentrate on Steve and Karen's faces and nothing more.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once I got into the tub my contractions changed drastically. They were <i>VERY</i> intense with nearly no break in between. The first few I had I kept my eyes closed and just tried to concentrate on breathing, but I was beginning to get scared and wasn't breathing enough. I suddenly had a sensation through both of my arms that felt like electricity running through them. I had to hold them both out in front of me and it was the craziest feeling. They told me I was hyperventilating and that I needed to concentrate more on breathing. For the rest of the contractions I concentrated on looking at Karen and she helped me breathe through them. Even though I wasn't actively pushing I could feel the baby moving down with each contraction. The water is so deep that they use a flash light to shine down into the water to watch as the baby comes down. I could see Steve's face of amazement as he was able to slowly see more and more of the baby's head with each contraction. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9iV6bN6W2I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/FLvHjLVahVY/s400/IMG_1383.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465282978785155938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9iV7CaeD1I/AAAAAAAAAJY/7wfGOBKiJAw/s400/IMG_1385.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465282989306810194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /><div>At one point they tried to get the baby's heart rate and I began to have another strong contraction. They waited and then tried again. It took a moment for them to get the Doppler in the right spot to hear the heartbeat, and it was a moment of terror for both me and Steve. But they found it and it sounded good.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was the strangest feeling to feel the baby coming down without actually pushing. And it was also incredibly painful, a type of pain that I never felt during my labor with Jackson since I had the epidural by the time he was coming down the birth canal. As the baby's head got closer I got feel it burning and stretching. I was so afraid to actually push, and since I could feel my body involuntarily pushing I figured his head was going to come out soon whether I pushed or not. But the next contraction was so painful and I didn't want to have to live through another so I gave a slight push and out popped his head! (OUCH!!!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Steve took some pretty great pictures of this whole process but since they all involve my most private area there are only a few that I've been able to crop and share. </div><div><br /></div><div>As soon as the baby's head came out I expected to wait for another contraction and push his body out. I'm not sure what happened at this point but something indicated to the doctor that there was a problem and she instantly was in the water having me push and she began pulling the baby out. It all happened very quickly and as confusing as it was for me at the time, it was too quick to process or even ask what the heck was going on. This is the one really disappointing thing to me about Max's birth. From all the research I did on water births, all the conversations I had with my doctor, and all the water birth videos I watched, I had assumed that <i>I</i> would deliver my baby. I would push his head out, wait for another contraction or two, push his body out and pull him up out of the water on to my chest. I don't think I'll ever know exactly why the doctor intervened. I found out later that it was her first water birth ever, and I think she may have just gotten scared that his shoulder was stuck - a fear which my doctor told me is every OB's worst nightmare. I was quite angry about the whole thing for a few days after, but I had a really good conversation with my doctor about it and I feel more forgiving toward the doctor who delivered Max than I initially did.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9ifPYBR9qI/AAAAAAAAAJo/cb461YuDXLk/s400/max1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465293234308773538" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 356px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9idod98I0I/AAAAAAAAAJg/aFacmBZQw_k/s400/max2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465291466378847042" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 314px; " /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85ZlrJNjhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/PNK5kig0sKc/s1600/IMG_0195.JPG"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85ZlrJNjhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/PNK5kig0sKc/s1600/IMG_0195.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9ifP9wu18I/AAAAAAAAAJw/pwen0SJsCvw/s400/max3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465293244439910338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 252px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igF8Chr7I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/ydeaBmkmFDI/s400/IMG_1397.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465294171690610610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igGl8yLeI/AAAAAAAAAKA/_GOb16MtdsY/s400/IMG_1398.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465294182940814818" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igRrJ43TI/AAAAAAAAAKI/nlHHE8VTqqw/s1600/IMG_1405.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igRrJ43TI/AAAAAAAAAKI/nlHHE8VTqqw/s400/IMG_1405.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465294373316517170" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igYcQhddI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/0uwitb-eQ1w/s1600/IMG_1407.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igYcQhddI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/0uwitb-eQ1w/s400/IMG_1407.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465294489576895954" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9ighPZFwCI/AAAAAAAAAKY/K_oD741O-rQ/s1600/IMG_1425.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9ighPZFwCI/AAAAAAAAAKY/K_oD741O-rQ/s400/IMG_1425.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465294640741990434" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igoLXG78I/AAAAAAAAAKg/BZAjx7VLq2Y/s1600/IMG_1432.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igoLXG78I/AAAAAAAAAKg/BZAjx7VLq2Y/s400/IMG_1432.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465294759919022018" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igwDmsvCI/AAAAAAAAAKo/_6fWwRktJDQ/s1600/IMG_1437.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9igwDmsvCI/AAAAAAAAAKo/_6fWwRktJDQ/s400/IMG_1437.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465294895275883554" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In total we were at the hospital for about 2 hours before Max was born just before 4pm. My total time in the tub was less than 30 minutes. By 7pm the Dales and Jackson came to see us and brought us dinner. The time felt just right, not too fast, but not too slow either.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I didn't so much as get a single poke of a needle during my stay at the hospital. I guess it's standard procedure to give a mom a shot (or IV) of pitocin after birth to allow the uterus to contract down more quickly, but I asked to let my body do the work and it did just fine. There were some very marked differences in my recovery and also in Max from this birth as compared to Jackson's. Max was alert from the moment he came out, he nursed well 30 minutes after he was born and continued to through the night. I can't say for sure why it was but Jackson was pretty lethargic after he was born and the first night. It may have been from being in the birth canal so long (I pushed for nearly two hours) but I also think it could have been from the drugs I was receiving. After I got the epidural with Jackson I no longer could listen to my body to tell me what to do. I couldn't feel when it was time to push but rather waited for the doctor to instruct me to push. And even as I pushed for so long I couldn't <i>feel </i>what I was doing. I couldn't even hold my own legs up. With Max I was so in tune with my body and I was aware of everything, could feel everything. And yes, that meant feeling more pain, but for me it also meant that I was the one in control of things. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Within an hour after Max was born I was stitched up, he had nursed, and I was strong enough to take a shower. And in the days after even though I was very sore it was nothing compared to the pain I was in after Jackson's birth.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After my experience of two completely different births I can say for sure that I would much rather do it without the drugs. There is definitely a time for intervention - for pitocin, for pain meds, for epidurals and cesarians...but I am really thankful that I was able to realize the true, unbelievably amazing experience of a natural birth. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85ZkxjLeZI/AAAAAAAAAII/pktD_3Pz5Fg/s400/IMG_8417.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462401886358043026" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Big brother brought flowers for me and a present for Max.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9ihC_8xijI/AAAAAAAAAKw/ZC-yQ6pf6Ng/s1600/IMG_0193.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S9ihC_8xijI/AAAAAAAAAKw/ZC-yQ6pf6Ng/s400/IMG_0193.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465295220712245810" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Love at first sight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85Zj_d5JEI/AAAAAAAAAH4/uosWpl-TmTc/s400/IMG_8471.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462401872914097218" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85YHq-dNNI/AAAAAAAAAHw/_8MCn8pYu3A/s400/IMG_8457.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462400286865568978" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85YHBZpDiI/AAAAAAAAAHo/RDJLyvdW4uI/s400/IMG_8459.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462400275705302562" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85ZlrJNjhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/PNK5kig0sKc/s1600/IMG_0195.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85ZlrJNjhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/PNK5kig0sKc/s1600/IMG_0195.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85ZlrJNjhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/PNK5kig0sKc/s400/IMG_0195.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462401901818383890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Ready to come home.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85ZkxjLeZI/AAAAAAAAAII/pktD_3Pz5Fg/s1600/IMG_8417.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85Zkc_nG6I/AAAAAAAAAIA/N1kiH-biY28/s1600/IMG_8479.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85Zkc_nG6I/AAAAAAAAAIA/N1kiH-biY28/s400/IMG_8479.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462401880840149922" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S85YHBZpDiI/AAAAAAAAAHo/RDJLyvdW4uI/s1600/IMG_8459.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><br /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div></div><br /></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-68986275363737461072010-03-31T11:50:00.000-07:002010-03-31T12:17:20.081-07:00A Pregnant TimeOkay so I took some time off there.<div>I've regrouped. </div><div>I've joined twitter. </div><div>I've re-joined Facebook. </div><div>I've gained 6 pounds.</div><div>How could I possibly stop blogging?</div><div><br /></div><div>Back to the gaining of 6 pounds, in two weeks that is. Right now I weigh more than I ever have, ever, <i>in my life</i>. Now don't get me wrong - I'm cool with that. But it's a little weird to see numbers I have never seen before when I step on the scale. And it's strange at the end here when I'm now going to the Dr. weekly and I'm gaining each week. But I guess Sharky's gain = my gain...so that's good.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I'm in the middle of my 38th week now, and man am I feeling it. I had to 'take it easy' between 34 and 37 weeks because I was dilating early. That kind of stunk because I still had some energy left in me. Now that I don't have to take it easy anymore that's all I want to do. It seriously is a chore just to roll over in bed. But imagine (if you haven't ever been 38 weeks pregnant) that you have a 25 lb. bowling ball strapped to your abdomen. Now try to roll over. See what I mean. Images of beached wales coming to mind?</div><div><br /></div><div>Being at the end here really messes with my head. The unknown of it all. When will I go into labor? Will I have had a good night's sleep or will I just be about to fall into bed? And how badly will it hurt? Ouch, unfortunately I already know. </div><div><br /></div><div>This pregnancy has taught me so much about myself, especially my 23 year old self when I was pregnant with Jackson. I have approached pregnancy very differently this time...in so many ways. One of the biggest ways is what I believe about my body. When I was pregnant with Jackson I didn't trust my body. It's not that I actively, consciously had these thoughts, but as I look back I can see that I didn't trust that my body would be able to bring Jackson into the world. I felt comfort in the medical interventions I had during labor, they helped me to believe that I could do it, I could birth this child. I also didn't listen to myself or my body, I listened to my Doctor. And I believe she had my best interest in mind, but why didn't I trust myself? </div><div><br /></div><div>I've changed <i>a lot</i> since then. </div><div><br /></div><div>This time around I have done a lot of reading. We've hired a doula (a birth coach to be there and assist during labor). Steve and I have communicated in great detail what our hopes and expectations are for the birth of Sharky. (He's sadly remains unnamed...a predicament which has us losing sleep at this point!) And perhaps one of the biggest differences is that I trust what my body is going to do. I believe that my body was designed to bear children, and that it knows what's going on. And I trust my instincts. </div><div><br /></div><div>Did you know that a female tigress has the ability to stop her labor cold if she feels endangered? In the case of an attack, while in labor, her body produces a hormone that stops labor immediately allowing her to run. Isn't that amazing?</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know when I'm going to have this baby, but I know it will be in the next three weeks. And I know that it's going to be an <i>awesome</i> experience. And I kind of can't wait for that!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-73318361596070356472010-03-17T14:29:00.001-07:002010-03-17T14:41:51.589-07:00To Blog or Not to Blog, Revisited.It seems that I am not a very good blogger. Here's the problem: I am a lazy blogger, I have issues with the computer (I don't like spending a lot of time on it), and I have a hard time believing people are even reading my blog. I'm just not sure this relationship is working...I think we might be breaking up.<div><br /></div><div>The thing that makes we want to stick with it is that I have good blogging ideas all the time! Sometimes when I can't sleep I think up the content of my next (alleged) blog post with a snappy title and everything. But I NEVER end up writing the post. I mean, I had a middle of the night post called 'Ode to Jellies' all about the jelly shoes of my childhood and how I want to assist in bringing them back into coolness. I've had posts about Jackson and the crazy things he says. Posts about donuts...lots of posts about donuts. But somewhere there is a disconnect from my head to my computer. </div><div><br /></div><div>If I had a secretary that would solve a lot of problems. I think a lot of it is that when I have time to do something for myself the last thing I want to do is be sitting at my computer. If I had a secretary I would dictate my blog posts while I washed the dishes. </div><div><br /></div><div>The other problem is I don't know who my readership is. And I believe one of the first rules about writing is 'know your audience". That makes blogging especially tough for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, here's what I'm asking of you. If you read my blog and you like to read it, leave a comment. It's ironic that I'm asking for comments because I typically dislike them (my argument being why wouldn't you just email me?) but in this case comments are my friend. Just let me know you're still reading. Otherwise, we're through. </div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-16946953564494824932010-02-23T14:24:00.000-08:002010-02-23T14:49:05.347-08:00I Think It's Called 'Nesting'<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S4RYJL7YEYI/AAAAAAAAAHg/V9ZJvgBTHPE/s1600-h/IMG_2278.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S4RYIiSLlaI/AAAAAAAAAHY/AX0Ko2xQZFU/s1600-h/IMG_2280.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S4RYIiSLlaI/AAAAAAAAAHY/AX0Ko2xQZFU/s400/IMG_2280.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441571153435661730" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S4RYH5wTZ6I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/qXlxAUBNYDU/s1600-h/IMG_2279.JPG"></a>I<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">'ve been a little behind in posting lately, due to a serious case of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">insanity</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> including organizing every baby/kid item we have collected over the last 5 years. It's really insane how much stuff we have accumulated.</span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S4RYH5wTZ6I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/qXlxAUBNYDU/s400/IMG_2279.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441571142556149666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We ate cereal for dinner for about a week and maneuvering through the kitchen/living room became our own Olympic sport - thankfully it's all over now! As I was washing all the baby clothes/toys/things I was thinking that it would be easier to go buy it all new! But thankfully we hardly need to buy anything, except for some random items that mysteriously got lost in the move (I think we lost a box somewhere along the way. I hope the guys that moved us are enjoying our changing pad and play mat and size large Fuzzi Bunz cloth diapers!) And I had to buy Sharky one new outfit to wear home from the hospital, because after that it's going to be 100% hand-me-downs!</span><div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S4RYJL7YEYI/AAAAAAAAAHg/V9ZJvgBTHPE/s400/IMG_2278.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441571164614300034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Now it's all stacked up in labeled bins in a clean and organized basement. Ahh...the things that bring me joy.</span></div></div></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-68251092571521464492010-02-03T16:10:00.000-08:002010-02-03T16:46:34.347-08:00Hodge Podge<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oQ_bQigaI/AAAAAAAAAF4/ataxUn1NVEM/s1600-h/IMG_2182.JPG"></a>I've been a little behind in posting lately...for no good reason other than lack of motivation. But I just downloaded some pictures from the last few weeks, so here's a look at what we've been up to:<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I had to take a shot of this because this is the wonder that is Portland. I mean, what is it? If I get myself to Ash St. on January 20th will I get to see a whale be born? Unfortunately I didn't get to Ash St., so now I'm just left wondering.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oQ_bQigaI/AAAAAAAAAF4/ataxUn1NVEM/s400/IMG_2182.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434174582210855330" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jackson's been very artsy lately. Making sock puppets, painting, coloring, cutting...etc.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oRAEcQ8MI/AAAAAAAAAGA/d0rTwvk4e_U/s400/IMG_2184.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434174593265889474" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">We've had some gorgeous days sprinkled about the rainy ones. Last Wednesday was one of those - about 55 degrees and the warm sun all day long. After I dropped Jackson off at preschool I went home, packed some snacks, a blanket, and my knitting, and hiked up Mt. Tabor. I sat in the sun and soaked in the vitamin D for hours. It was heavenly!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oTqcuof6I/AAAAAAAAAGY/tArYelHicxM/s400/IMG_2233.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434177520363143074" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">We bought a pass to the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI) and have been there three times in the last three weeks. They have an exhibit with real bones from a T-Rex, Samson. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oTp8B5x3I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/Uk-rwYATkHc/s400/IMG_2230.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434177511585597298" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">I made a 'girl version' of the little boy balloon shirt.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oV4E0sH8I/AAAAAAAAAGg/D9sgdM4S0RY/s400/IMG_0065.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434179953487519682" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Some fellow former Michiganders (Katie Breen Johnson and Andy + Andrea Chamberlin) came down for the weekend. We girls went out for a pre-baby night on the town. We ate lots of good food, and overdosed on chocolate, but ah...always worth it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oWz8J4K6I/AAAAAAAAAGo/cYwcMYGsiII/s400/IMG_2239.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434180981952621474" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Had another sunny day the next day so we had a picnic at Mt. Tabor We wanted to invite Little Debbie (we reminisced our childhoods of swiss cake rolls and nutty bars) but had to settle for Hostess. Better than nothin' I guess.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oW0eu12MI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hSh9_xQ1HIc/s400/IMG_2241.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434180991234463938" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jackson had an AMAZING catch that I happened to capture at just the right time</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oW0ya-EFI/AAAAAAAAAG4/6ia2yyqXhY8/s400/IMG_2248.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434180996519825490" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">And once again, yesterday we had such a gorgeous day that Jackson and I ate lunch at the top of Rocky Butte. If you look closely you can see Mt. Hood in there, but the streaky clouds make it a little tough to see.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oW1yZspdI/AAAAAAAAAHI/4M9yNjnq15o/s400/IMG_2254.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434181013694358994" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">So many picnics in January. I could get used to that!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S2oW1fGRf_I/AAAAAAAAAHA/2BRf3p97qZo/s400/IMG_2256.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434181008512614386" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></span></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-6101614497006108882010-01-20T22:05:00.001-08:002010-01-20T22:31:27.718-08:00The Waffle Window<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S1fv5W6jzxI/AAAAAAAAAFg/xTzSJpHcS5Y/s400/IMG_0061.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429071644501200658" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Portland is really into food...served up all kinds of ways - from a cart, a trailer, a window, just to name a few. While Emily was visiting in November we thought we'd try out what's known as The Waffle Window. It's literally a <i>window </i>that's connected to an (overpriced) restaurant/cafe. The Waffle Window appears to be the cheaper venue but still allows for some experience of the actual cafe, because there is special, <i>Waffle Window</i> indoor seating in a small section of the cafe, clearly marked by it's red and white checkered tablecloth. You know, the plastic kind. Or, if it's not raining, you can enjoy your waffle from a picnic table outside. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I digress...</div><div><br /></div><div>The point of this blog post is to let you know how incredibly, completely, aboslutely <b>HEAVENLY</b> these waffles are. (ie: entice you with yet <i>another </i>reason to mosey on over to the pacific northwest for a visit)</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S1fwaenS1JI/AAAAAAAAAFw/sK-TbqRNR8g/s1600-h/IMG_0062.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></a></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S1fv6GiQmYI/AAAAAAAAAFo/yNJsciRtiNA/s1600-h/IMG_0059.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S1fv6GiQmYI/AAAAAAAAAFo/yNJsciRtiNA/s400/IMG_0059.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429071657284180354" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As you can see in the above and below pictures, this aint your mamma's waffle. This also aint your typical breakfast waffle, though I know a few people who could probably stomach this for breakfast, but not me. I consider this a <i>dessert</i> waffle. And they have TONS of choices, with clever names to boot. I can't seem to remember what my favorite one is called, but it has dark chocolate, pears, raspberries, and fresh whipping cream. Ahhhh...are you salivating yet?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S1fwaenS1JI/AAAAAAAAAFw/sK-TbqRNR8g/s400/IMG_0062.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429072213503562898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Until you come for a visit, Jackson and I will have to eat our waffle alone. (Steve's on <i>the program...again</i>). We've already made it a weekly ritual. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But we deserve it...because we (usually) walk there and back. And that's like a whole mile :<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;">)</span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S1fv5W6jzxI/AAAAAAAAAFg/xTzSJpHcS5Y/s1600-h/IMG_0061.JPG"></a>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-90594799746873466802010-01-12T08:58:00.000-08:002010-01-12T09:20:31.176-08:00New Shirt Design!<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0ys5hKW7kI/AAAAAAAAAE4/FEhdfvYlucQ/s400/IMG_2178.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425901755228941890" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm so happy with the way this design turned out, I just had to make a post about it! This design was inspired by some photos I took of Jackson with balloons this past fall. Here are a few process photos:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">stencil has been cut and ironed on the shirt</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0ytzsmWTmI/AAAAAAAAAFA/XsJa1_4W59Q/s400/IMG_2171.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425902754731544162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">paint inside the stencil</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0yt0XYhMhI/AAAAAAAAAFI/tsBXiI_B4DY/s400/IMG_2172.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425902766216262162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">outer stencil has been removed</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0yt08ohmwI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/4S7c8KCPMgU/s1600-h/IMG_2173.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0yt08ohmwI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/4S7c8KCPMgU/s400/IMG_2173.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425902776215509762" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">little pieces have been removed</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0yt1dfdkCI/AAAAAAAAAFY/4soW-GJbr-g/s400/IMG_2177.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425902785035866146" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><br /><div>and for the final touch I sewed on the balloon strings with orange thread. Even an ugly baby would look cute in this onesie!<br /><div><br /><div><br /></div></div></div></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-25588181318892689762010-01-06T14:38:00.000-08:002010-01-06T14:42:49.271-08:00Jackson's First Full Day of Preschool<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0URUugPFlI/AAAAAAAAAEo/UVkpCxDDcNM/s1600-h/IMG_2160.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/S0URUugPFlI/AAAAAAAAAEo/UVkpCxDDcNM/s400/IMG_2160.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423760374015923794" /></a>Most of the kids at Jackson's preschool stay for a full day, and he always leaves before lunch. He's been <i>begging </i>us to let him stay for a full day for a while now, so we thought we'd try it out. He helped pack his lunch last night in preparation for the big day. Can you tell he was excited?margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-91131151049354769082009-12-10T20:26:00.000-08:002009-12-10T20:34:07.498-08:00matchy matchy...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SyHLJs-4FwI/AAAAAAAAAEg/9jNR0RDCcrg/s1600-h/IMG_1316.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SyHLJs-4FwI/AAAAAAAAAEg/9jNR0RDCcrg/s400/IMG_1316.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413831594630190850" /></a><br />If you know me well, you know I am not so much the matchy sort. If I had twins, they would probably NEVER wear the same outfit at the same time. I wonder what that says about me? <div><br /></div><div>But anyway...Steve has been wanting me to knit him a hat with vertical stripes. I didn't think it was possible (because I didn't know how to do it), but as it turns out it's very possible. I found a pattern and he picked out the colors. Unfortunately the first one was a tad small and it also had a few minor mistakes in the pattern that I didn't notice until it was too late. So, of course I had to make another one that was <i>perfect</i>. Plus I had enough yarn left over. So I whipped up another slightly larger version for Steve (actually I didn't <i>whip</i> it up...more like I slaved over it). And now Steve and Jackson are all matchy matchy. So cute! (and a little cheesy).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-85606778590361320952009-12-10T20:23:00.000-08:002009-12-10T20:26:14.724-08:00new haircut<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SyHJ1R70dSI/AAAAAAAAAEY/pGVyxuRvcDg/s1600-h/IMG_1323.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SyHJ1R70dSI/AAAAAAAAAEY/pGVyxuRvcDg/s400/IMG_1323.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413830144260601122" /></a><br />isn't he beautiful? especially when you can see his poop-colored eyes? now let's work on the smile...margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-17337595123059763882009-12-04T12:18:00.000-08:002009-12-04T12:22:50.174-08:00Car ConversationsJackson: Are there robbers by our house Mom?<div><br /></div><div>Me: Um...I haven't heard about any robbers around here. Why, are you worried about that?</div><div><br /></div><div>J: Yeah. </div><div><br /></div><div>M: What are you worried about?</div><div><br /></div><div>J: I don't want robbers to come in and steal my money.</div><div><br /></div><div>M: Well, a lot of times robbers like to go to big huge houses where people have <i>lots </i>of money.</div><div><br /></div><div>J: <b>But Mom, I have </b><i><b>two </b></i><b>piggy banks.</b></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-14810999310974608142009-11-25T19:52:00.000-08:002009-11-26T20:55:57.605-08:00pod: fun with markers<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw396-0vzxI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/GhYcfd8ywEo/s1600/IMG_2001.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;">I call this design: Hitler Harry Potter + Goatee</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw38pEcDvsI/AAAAAAAAAEI/KtlK8cd4Qtk/s1600/IMG_2010.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw38TJ2Z0tI/AAAAAAAAAEA/dUuqd30cIxo/s1600/IMG_2012.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw38Exe6YdI/AAAAAAAAAD4/MT6lOGFawJs/s1600/IMG_2003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw38Exe6YdI/AAAAAAAAAD4/MT6lOGFawJs/s400/IMG_2003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408255886474502610" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">But them I had to let him do it to me...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw38TJ2Z0tI/AAAAAAAAAEA/dUuqd30cIxo/s400/IMG_2012.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408256133533651666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He tried to get Daddy, but he wasn't in the mood</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw38pEcDvsI/AAAAAAAAAEI/KtlK8cd4Qtk/s400/IMG_2010.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408256510038097602" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">and that made him sad</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sw396-0vzxI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/GhYcfd8ywEo/s400/IMG_2001.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408257917280309010" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></span></div></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-27142754828887936582009-11-24T18:57:00.000-08:002009-11-24T19:06:23.681-08:00pod: jumping jacks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwydkxznpgI/AAAAAAAAADw/OUqOY9blvws/s1600/IMG_1989.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwydkxznpgI/AAAAAAAAADw/OUqOY9blvws/s400/IMG_1989.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407870507735819778" /></a>Jackson has a very adventurous neighbor friend who does some amazing tricks on this ramp with his bike. Jacks has been practicing jumping this ramp with his bike too, but first he likes to warm up by doing it on foot.margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-78820006504205301022009-11-23T14:37:00.000-08:002009-11-23T14:45:18.181-08:00pod: mount hood on a clear(ish) day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwsO8evpPkI/AAAAAAAAADo/MbBrL-AxZFo/s1600/IMG_1961.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwsO8evpPkI/AAAAAAAAADo/MbBrL-AxZFo/s400/IMG_1961.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407432209796251202" /></a><div>Mt. Hood is the closest 'big' mountain to us - it's about 30 miles away. Today was beautiful, sunny, and fairly clear...kind of rare around here, but it makes me appreciate the nice days so much more! (I <i>can</i> be an optimist!)</div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-88975771737589105572009-11-23T14:32:00.000-08:002009-11-23T14:35:42.129-08:00shout outSteve has started his own blog, which is so much better than being a guest-poster, right?<div>Check him out at http://onegear2wheels.blogspot.com/ and decide for yourself!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-17461920892857082742009-11-18T10:49:00.000-08:002009-11-22T18:25:08.365-08:00p.t.a.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwnyaHmmWII/AAAAAAAAADg/2KXRP1PBAvM/s1600/IMG_1790.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwnyaHmmWII/AAAAAAAAADg/2KXRP1PBAvM/s400/IMG_1790.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407119358166456450" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwnvqC1bAsI/AAAAAAAAADY/cTqC1MLjYVQ/s1600/IMG_1789.JPG"></a>I have diagnosed myself with a disorder I call <b>public transportation anxiety</b>, P.T.A. for short. Anyone can suffer from this, but I am especially predisposed for reasons including: <div><br /></div><div>:: I have ridden public transportation about 6 times in my whole life, always while visiting friends/family, and always with a guide. </div><div><br /></div><div>:: I operate from a belief that I <i>owe</i> it to people to know what I'm doing (in just about any situation). Therefore, I am extremely embarrassed when it becomes clear that I am clueless. Let's not get into how ridiculous of an idea this is...that I'm <i>human</i>...etc. I'm fully aware of my issues.</div><div><br /></div><div>:: When I get flustered and am in the middle of a situation where I clearly <i>do not </i>know what I'm doing, I tend to loose all logic and common sense. It's like I'm in situation overload, and I now longer have the brain capacity to be logical.</div><div><br /></div><div>The one very positive thing I have going for me is that deep down I really <i>want</i> to learn how to use public transportation, especially the bus. So, I'm actually a good person to have P.T.A. because I am willing to overcome!</div><div><br /></div><div>In the first month we were here I only rode on a bus 3 times and a tram 1 time, all of which had been experienced with Steve. Steve's presence cancels out the effects of P.T.A. because he suffers from the opposite disorder. It doesn't have a good acronym (and it's too bad, because he is in the business of acronyms "I sent the S.O.W. to the C.I.O and he sent back a P.O.S." that's what I sometimes wake up to, since his office is in our bedroom.) but it's called something like 'uber-confident-in-every-possible-situation so much so that he never <i>appears</i> to be clueless.</div><div><br /></div><div>During my mom's visit, she, Jackson and I took a walk to a coffee shop one morning. It was a normal day, meaning that it was kind of grey and there were a few rainy clouds out, but I knew we wouldn't be gone long, so we left our raincoats behind. (I have since learned that to ensure dryness, one must <i>always </i>carry a raincoat.) After the coffee shop, we decided to walk up to Fred Mejer, aka Freddy's, aka the grocery store we like to frequent. </div><div><br /></div><div>On the way to Freddy's it began t0 gently rain. Nothing we couldn't handle though. So we were a tad soggy by the time we got there. While we were in the store, for all of 10 minutes, a <i>torrential downpour </i>ensued. The type of downpour which a certain northwest-bred friend of whom I will not mention here (you know who you are, and you should be ashamed!) assured me I would not experience here in the northwest. </div><div><br /></div><div>There happens to be a bus stop right in front of Freddy's. And Freddy's is roughly 10 blocks from our house (about .8 miles give or take). I had taken the 14 bus two times already, and I knew exactly where we could get off about 3 blocks from our house, and I also knew that if you were staying in the same zone (which we were) the cost was $1. So we decided to take the bus for about 6 blocks to avoid the rain.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sure I looked cool and composed, and really what could go wrong? I mean, we did almost get on going the wrong way, and it was my<i> mom </i>who realized that maybe we needed to cross the street and get on the bus that was actually <i>heading the direction we needed to head</i>. But once we got that minor detail figured out I thought we were golden. I had my two one-dollar bills out and facing the correct way to slide into the machine, and there was even enough room for us to all huddle under the bus stop to avoid that rain that was coming down <i>sideways</i> and <i>from underneath u</i><i>s. </i><b>I felt so Portland!</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>So as much as I seemed to have all my ducks in a row, what happened next seems to be <i>classic</i>. It's classic in the sense that I am unable to avoid awkwardness, especially in situations where I am the most anxious. (Which perhaps contributes in bringing them about.) </div><div><br /></div><div>The bus stops and we rush to get on, at the same time realizing that no one else under the bus stop is rushing to get on (hmm? that's strange) to then realize that they are politely waiting to first let people get <i>off</i> the bus (clearly I've already lost my common sense at this point). When we do get on I send my mom and Jackson to the back and begin to insert my two dollars. I tell the woman I'm paying for me and my mom (Jacks is free). She says "it's <i>four</i> dollars then" (might I say she didn't say it very kindly. I think she added a silent "you silly, white, suburban <i>moron</i>" at the end of it). </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, I didn't have any more dollars on me, because who carries cash when you're with your mom? So now I'm yelling to the back of the bus for my mom to give me more money, at the same time trying to explain to the ever-so-kind bus driver that I've ridden this bus before, and isn't it only one dollar if you're staying in the same zone...ie: only going 6 blocks?! Did the rule <i>just </i>change. Or are you just trying to mess with me?</div><div><br /></div><div>She wasn't having it. She wouldn't address my questions and just kept insisting that it was <b>FOUR DOLLARS!</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>In the end, we only rode 4 blocks because I accidently got us off too early. So we paid a dollar a block. And we obviously got soaking wet on the 5 blocks that we had left to walk home. </div><div><br /></div><div>So to work out my p.t.a. angst Jackson and I went puddle jumping when we got to our street. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwnvqC1bAsI/AAAAAAAAADY/cTqC1MLjYVQ/s400/IMG_1789.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407116333229474498" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-9698940428857511412009-11-16T19:51:00.000-08:002009-11-16T21:33:35.749-08:00boys in the hood<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwIu08w246I/AAAAAAAAADQ/3dyDI-XRm1Y/s1600/IMG_1924.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/SwIu08w246I/AAAAAAAAADQ/3dyDI-XRm1Y/s400/IMG_1924.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404933989997142946" /></a><br /><div>I'm still surprised but the ultrasound definitely proved that <b>I'm carrying another boy!</b> It took us all a few minutes to get our heads around, because all three of us thought it was a girl, but we are psyched to have another boy. </div><div><br /></div><div>My due date is April 12, and right now (at 19 weeks) the baby weighs 9 oz. Just a tiny little guy. Jackson has decided to name him Sharky-Shark, for now. The ultrasound took over an hour and he was getting a little impatient, so we started joking that maybe I was growing a dinosaur, or maybe a baby shark (currently his two favorite species).</div><div><br /></div><div>I had two different ultrasound techs, both of which were males! I've had a handful of ultrasounds in the past few years and have never had a male. My experience with ultrasound techs has been that they are all business - they have specific info/measurements to gather, so please don't slow them down by asking questions. It's so hard because I'm so curious!! And I want to ask a million questions. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first tech, Kirk, was still learning so he did the first half of the ultrasound. He was very laid back and talked a lot. He talked to Jackson, he answered all kinds of our questions. (He also guessed it was a girl.) And then his supervisor, Brian, was just as friendly and accommodating. It really was a different experience than any other ultrasound I've had before. It seems to take a trained eye to really understand the way an ultrasound works, and there is so much that shows up on the screen that seems indecipherable - but they each told us so much about what they were looking at.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were able to see all four chambers of the heart, and even to see the way the blood was flowing in and out. We saw all ten of the baby's toes and fingers (we got a good thumbs-up shot). At one point Brian kind of tapped on my belly with the ultrasound wand. I inquired and he explained that he was checking that the baby's skin continued from the back of the neck all along the spine, and when he tapped my belly it pushed the baby away from my uterus for just a moment to get a good view of the baby's skin.</div><div><br /></div><div>They both had a little trouble getting the head measurements because little Sharky-Shark was doing acrobatics like he was on speed. I was surprised because the other two ultrasounds I've had (where I could see the whole baby) he's been totally chilled out (another reason I thought it was a girl). But he was seriously moving. I started feeling him kick at 17 weeks but still his kicks seem small. I only actually felt about 10% of the movement that I observed on the screen during the ultrasound. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm so glad to know that it's a boy, to start thinking about what we will name him, and even just to finally call it a him. After watching him on the screen I realized how crazy it seems that he's a full baby right now! He has every body part that a baby has at birth. And yet, he still has 5 more months of growing to do before he could live outside of me. It fascinates me, how something is alive within my own body.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-40596745823621936252009-11-15T12:40:00.000-08:002009-11-15T13:45:18.795-08:00Steves p.o.d<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YANrJ9eoSj8/SwBnxidQlmI/AAAAAAAAE_0/HFSa5mKNXmM/s1600-h/1115091142.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YANrJ9eoSj8/SwBnxidQlmI/AAAAAAAAE_0/HFSa5mKNXmM/s320/1115091142.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404433653605373538" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">This was the <b><i>tough </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">skier look...be ready slopes, action Jackson will soon be coming for a visit!</span></b></div>sadnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-28530600096406745342009-11-14T20:04:00.000-08:002009-11-14T20:08:14.711-08:00pod: key letters<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv9-CP_kghI/AAAAAAAAADA/fOZM2ipJW3Q/s1600-h/IMG_1868.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv9-CP_kghI/AAAAAAAAADA/fOZM2ipJW3Q/s400/IMG_1868.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404176654985888274" /></a>Jackson snapped this shot just before heading off to bed. Ever since we got a little point and shoot camera he loves to grab it and fill the frame. In this shot he was trying to capture as many of the letters from his name as he could. Not bad, eh? I mean, can your kid do that? Yeah, I'd like to see it!margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-76069348152821254322009-11-14T19:49:00.000-08:002009-11-14T20:03:34.287-08:00xx or xy...that is the question<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv96tmp1LYI/AAAAAAAAAC4/Noxwuxdmckk/s1600-h/IMG_1880.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv96tmp1LYI/AAAAAAAAAC4/Noxwuxdmckk/s400/IMG_1880.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404173001756585346" /></a>Here's the proof - I'm finally showing some evidence of pregnancy. Though unfortunately most of the time I just look like a college girl with a sexy beer gut. <div><br /></div><div>I'm really curious to find out the gender of this baby (as I was with Jackson). I didn't have a strong hunch one way or the other with Jackson, but I really think this baby is a girl. No matter the gender, this babe is definitely different than Jackson. It's calmer (kicks less frequently, and gentler) and seems mellowed out. Sounds perfect. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our family of three will make the trip to the hospital on Monday afternoon for my ultrasound. They're going to check the baby's anatomical measurements, the amount of fluid around the baby...etc. and of course, the gender! Hopefully we can get a gender shot as good as Jackson's ultrasound (for those of you who saw it back then...for those who don't, I will try to locate it because it's priceless!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Male or female, we are excited to welcome this baby into the world and into our family! Does anyone have any guesses?</div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-25821429945364881102009-11-13T21:32:00.000-08:002009-11-13T21:37:54.652-08:00pod: chain-up area<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv5BOM-VTbI/AAAAAAAAACw/phRl4vy72Ww/s1600-h/IMG_1852.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv5BOM-VTbI/AAAAAAAAACw/phRl4vy72Ww/s400/IMG_1852.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403828315147816370" /></a>While driving up and over Mt. Hood there's a stretch of road where, if road conditions are poor, cars are <i>required </i>to have chains on the tires. Or else you can get a ticket. We had a rental car and weren't privy to the chain requirement so we risked it. No ticket!margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4365643493252296829.post-44520405837085337322009-11-13T21:09:00.000-08:002009-11-23T14:40:41.099-08:00Bend<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Steve had a meeting in Bend this morning so we tagged along to check it out. Bend is three hours south and east of Portland, on the other side of the Cascade Mountain range. Apparently it's the place to be if you like Oregon but dislike the rain - since it's on the east side of the mountain range it gets a lot more sun and a lot less rain. I don't really understand how it works, but I think of it as the mountains eating up all the rain. It's weird because after an hour of driving east (when we reached Mt. Hood) we were in a snow blizzard.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And then another hour and your in the desert. Seriously, like tumbleweed blowing in front of your car and the roadrunner running around. Okay, no roadrunner, but no green in sight. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Then just before you reach Bend it turns into farmland. The three hour trip was kind of like a condensed road trip across the U.S. If I were a seasoned photojournalist I would have taken pictures all along the way, but all I was really fascinated with was the snow:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv4--RUIotI/AAAAAAAAACY/ofXOOfcNX00/s400/IMG_1855.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403825842411840210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It was also snowing in Bend today, and it was about 26 degrees</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv4_YYumffI/AAAAAAAAACg/17Yrl3PoL9o/s400/IMG_1842.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403826291078495730" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It was fun to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">see</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> the snow, but I was glad to come back to 40-something degrees, even if it's a little less sunny. And as far as Bend goes, I didn't see much of it, but it did not steal my heart. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And after such a grueling day of swimming in the hotel pool and sipping hot chocolate, Jacks was spent.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ggme-UBPQY/Sv5AD98zyUI/AAAAAAAAACo/2UPHMWhxmM0/s400/IMG_1845.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403827039804574018" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div></div>margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13456517450974956482noreply@blogger.com0